Two and a half years ago, the thought of having a penis or even a fingertip embedded in my bottom horrified me. Eighteen months ago, someone jonesing for my ass made me blush and cringe. By a year ago I was mostly cured, having experimented enough with solo butt-play that I felt nearly ready to give it up when the time was right.
I’ve since given it up, of course, and even though I’ve been giving it up for a little while now, I thought there existed butt-things that were still beyond the pale. Like, for example, doing the butt-thing in a room with other people.
“They know we do…that, right?” I asked him apprehensively in the days preceding our meeting.
“Yes, they know,” he told me. “They don’t do buttsex themselves though.”
“Oh. So they probably would be grossed out to see us doing it, right?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” he answered, smiling.
“I don’t know, baby. I don’t think I’m quite ready to show that off to other people.” I was nervous.
“As you wish, sugar.” And that was the end of the conversation.
But then the night in question arrived. We’d played with bottoms before we were joined. We’d had a nice giggle over bodily oddities. And I’d been getting the ever-loving life fucked out of me so thoroughly that my inhibitions had packed up and departed for parts unknown.
The other couple was on the opposing bed. My friend had me bent over our bed, face in the pillows, bottom upturned, his hand wrapped in my hair and pulling hard. I’d come so much and so hard that I feared I’d pass out from the pleasure.
Suddenly his mouth was right next to my ear. Even though we were being observed (closely), he was quiet enough that I’m sure they couldn’t hear what he said. “Do you want this in your ass, my little slut?”
I would have robbed banks for him at that point if he’d asked. I would have drunk the blood of infants. I would have voted Republican.
I would almost have given him this url.
“Yes Daddy,” I whimpered.
The room was silent as we followed our routine. He ever so slowly entered me, letting me adjust to the feeling of his big cock. It must have taken an extra-long time. It must have worried our friends. When finally he began fucking me in earnest, I could almost hear their mutual exhale.
And then one of them spoke quietly to me. “Does that feel good, XXXXXX?”
A thousand thoughts flashed through my mind of just exactly how good it felt, but I could put none of them into words. I suppose I could have nodded, but I was face-down in the pillows.
So I gave them the sign that in all languages and across the globe represents yes-oh-yes, this buttfucking does indeed feel good.
I think they all might have laughed at me, but I was in no shape to care.
So the moral of the story is this: If you give me many many orgasms, you can do just about whatever you’d like to me and I will not care. You could rip my limbs from their joints and suck the very marrow from my bones (if that sort of thing gets you off), and if you rub my clit in just the right way throughout, I’ll say nothing more than yes yes yes please more ohhhhh god yes.
It’s an amazing power. Use it only for good and never for evil, please.
